Till Then
by KeatsLove
Summary: Young Elizabeth and Will go on a picnic. Will says they are growing up so they should act more serious and not always play pirate games. Elizabeth tries hard to please him since she finds his opinion really does matter to her imagine that!


Till Then

"Goodness, Will, I never realized how awfully strong you must be. Smithing looks terribly difficult," I say from my vantage point on an overturned bucket at the Forge, chin propped in my hands, watching Will as he hammers away at some chunk of metal. "The heat alone would drive me batty."

"You grow accustomed to it," he says, never taking his attention from the metal that looks like it may be a nail when complete.

"I don't believe I ever would."

"Well, luckily all that is required of you, Elizabeth, is to look nice and capture a husband."

"That is rather unkind of you, Will Turner." I scowl at his tone. "I don't particularly like your treatment of me at the moment."

"I don't particularly care," he mutters but I overhear.

"Well, I never!" I huff, skirts swaying against my legs as I stand. "I wish we had left you on that horrid little raft all those years ago. Father has so much more important things to do with his time then pluck half-drowned orphans from the sea."

Will stops what he is doing in order to roll his eyes – making me fume all the more. "Like spoil his only child so she is the most horrendous pain in all of Port Royale?"

"I am not a pain!" I say, smacking his shoulder with my open palm. "You take that back, Will Turner!"

"Elizabeth! You will burn yourself!" he cries, shoving me away rather roughly, but I suppose I shall forgive him since it is in order to save my life. "If one spark from the forge catches your dress, you could be burned alive."

"Ah-ha! See! You do care!" I crow triumphantly, waggling a finger his direction. "If you didn't, you would say 'Step closer, Elizabeth, so this spark can singe you.'"

Will sighs, setting his work implements down carefully in order to run both hands down his face, streaking his forehead and cheeks with soot. "I never said I did not care, Elizabeth. I fear, perhaps, sometimes I care too much."

I grin happily at his admission. "Thank you, Will! I care quite a great deal about you as well."

"Y-You do?" he asks, taking a bumbling step backwards and toppling into the empty scrap metal bucket.

I laugh, grasping Will by the wrist in order to help pull him upright, letting my fingers linger on the cool, soft inner skin where his pulse beats. "Goodness, Will, with all these pratfalls and scrapes you manage to get yourself into, it's a wonder you don't break more bones aside from the ankle you injured when we were fourteen."

"Lucky, I suppose," he says, pulling his arm away and cradling it by the elbow. I pout at the loss. "I need to. . .I need to finish my work, Elizabeth, or Brown will be very irate."

"Will you come by later?" I ask. "When you are through? I can ask Cook to save any extra cold sandwiches from tea and perhaps we can have a picnic."

"I. . . ." Will trails off, considering, before nodding. "A picnic sounds lovely, Elizabeth."

"Excellent!" I reward Will with my brightest smile, bouncing excitedly on my heels. "I shall be waiting." I find my straw hat where I left it on the peg by the Blacksmith Shop door, tying the strings under my chin. "Till then, Will."

He nods my direction as I see myself out. "Till then, Elizabeth."

"Shall we play a game or just lounge around like lazybones?" I ask, biting into one of the tart green apples Cook thought to pack along with sandwiches and a jug of lemonade.

"Whatever you prefer, Elizabeth," Will defers to me as always. "I have no opinion either way."

"Of course you have an opinion," I say. "And I would very much like to hear it right now." I flop down onto my back, looking up at the clouds. "You called me spoiled and I wish to show you that I don't always think of my own pleasure. I can consider others."

Will lays down so we are shoulder-to-shoulder, turning so the tops of our heads touch. "A quiet moment in your company, Elizabeth, gives me more pleasure than any rowdy game you can think of. We don't always have to be _going_ or _doing_, we can just _be_."

I consider his statement. "That seems reasonable. So, are you saying you would rather do quiet things like talk or take tea together?"

"We are getting too old for playing pirates," he says, hand fumbling till it finds mine, fingers lacing up tight. "Even as indulgent as your father is, I don't believe he would think it proper either."

"What Father doesn't know, won't hurt him."

"But that is just the point, Elizabeth," Will says. "You can't hide things from him. It is just not right."

"You know I don't care about being proper," I say. "Goodness, I'm surprised my skin hasn't freckled to high heaven with the amount of time I spend without a hat."

"_I_ care about being proper," Will says quietly, voice low and serious. "Perhaps you should as well."

"Or what?" I ask, flipping to my side and propping myself up on the elbow not connected to the hand Will still had a hold on. "I hear an underlying threat there, Will Turner. Just say 'or else' and get it over and done with. You want to force my hand on some matter, so out with it. Or else what?"

"Or else you shall dislike the consequences greatly," he says, sitting up so it was he looking down at me and not vice versa. "I do not object to a stray game here or there, Elizabeth, but please give a care to your reputation. You are the Governor's daughter."

"And you are the Blacksmith's Apprentice," I say, sitting up as well, mainly in order to scowl my annoyance directly at Will. "Titles mean nothing."

"They should," Will says, beginning to collect up our empty picnic supplies in order to return them to Cook's basket.

"Not to me," I say stubbornly.

Will looks up, eyes searching my face as if trying to read my innermost soul. "Let us go home, Elizabeth. I am tired from working."

I obey without complaint, hugging the now folded blanket against my chest while Will carries the basket. "Will?" I ask, glancing sideways at him.

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"Don't be cross with me. It gives me night worries."

He laughs, rewarding me with a smile. "I am not cross with you."

"Honest?"

He makes a cross over his chest with his index finger. "Honest."

I lean close to give him a peck on the cheek, but Will turns his head at the wrong (or perhaps the right?) moment and our lips touch. We both take a quick jump back and Will blushes to the roots of his dark hair. I feel my own cheeks flaming and quickly lower my face to hide the fact.

"I. . . . I am sorry, Will. What an unfortunate accident."

"I. . . .There is nothing to forgive, Elizabeth."

"That is a relief!" I laugh, fanning my still burning face with my hand. "Let us hie home before Father or Blacksmith Brown worry over us." I smile to cover up my sudden nervousness, relieved with Will nods solemnly.

"Yes, let's."

I am brave enough to take his hand as we walk, swinging our joined hands back and forth and whistling a tune Celeste sings at night when she is tidying up my bed. Will seems to recognize the melody, and joins in. I grin, content to walk the rest of the way home thus, side-by-side, hand-in-hand with Will Turner.


End file.
